


Eyes Always Seeking

by FolleDeJoie



Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Monster Boyfriend, Other Characters TBA - Freeform, Sleazebag Raymond, asshole geraldus makes an appearance, explorer diarmuid, heavily influenced creature from the black lagoon, how do i phrase this without spoilers, sea creature mute, warnings will change in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FolleDeJoie/pseuds/FolleDeJoie
Summary: Diarmuid was used to the expeditions that his God-Father Ciaran kept taking him on: the icy poles, the heat of the desert, traipsing through swamps. He'd gone places few people had ever been, discovered new wildlife and basked in the natural world. No matter how many times he stepped foot on a new land, the wonder and miracles of life still had his curiosity flaring and his heart fluttering.Being around Lord De Merville's crew, however, was testing his patience to the limits.-While taking a much needed solitary walk through the jungle on an island off the coast of Cuba, explorer Diarmuid stumbles across something that might challenge any notions he had of the natural world, and maybe some others...(inspired by the Discord and Diarmute week)
Relationships: Brother Diarmuid/The Mute
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Diarmuid swiped the back of his hand over his gleaming forehead, taking a huge gulp from his water gourd as he took a break from his trek through the jungle.

He’d separated from the rest of the team during the afternoon, a welcome reprieve from Raymond’s remarks and Geraldus’s orders, under the guise of taking photos for his journals back home. Ciaran had frowned and asked him if he needed a guide, but he’d assured him that he wouldn’t go too far: at his guardian’s unimpressed expression he had had to remind him of the many expeditions they’d taken together in harsher climates than the one they found themselves in, and how his tracking and survival skills were some of the best on the team. He’d learned from the best, after all. Ciaran had sighed and allowed it, reminding him that he shouldn’t be gone too long or their illustrious benefactors would have to send in the cavalry (with a small eye-roll and quick glance at the De Merville’s garishly large tent that was being set up).

He’d smiled and grabbed his pack and his camera, setting off discreetly as he could and away from the camp. He trailed off into the jungle, the sounds of pots clanging and men laughing receding in the distance, until finally he was surrounded by the hum of wildlife. Leaves and twigs crunched beneath his boots, insects clicked and chirped and buzzed around him and it felt like taking a deep breath of fresh air. He enjoyed chatting with the researchers and asking them question after question about their equipment and their experiments, revelled in the conversations with the other guides and members of the team, but every now and then he longed for the solitude of his own thoughts.

Being surrounded by people didn’t usually bother him, but the… _fortunate presence_ , of their biggest sponsors was not without its hardships.

They had initially planned the expedition with a different backing, but barely a month before their departure there had been complications. Ciaran had come home from the institute looking worried and angry at the turn of events, lamenting the lack of organisation of the men who were _supposedly_ in charge. The older man would spend more time at the institute than usual, frequenting the social clubs in an attempt at finding an appropriate sponsor. They had all but given up hope of seeing their journey through to its end, when they had received a late-night visit from a keen-eyed and sharply dressed man who introduced himself as Geraldus Acquaire.

He worked for a conspicuously absent Lord De Merville who had heard of their plans to journey to the cluster of islands off the coast of Cuba to study the almost untouched fauna and flora of the area. De Merville apparently had a keen interest in the study of strange exotic animals, and was willing to finance the entire expedition for the good of the scientific community (and for his own private interests, of course: he was an aging man, and was keen of leaving as much of a legacy as possible, whether it be a steam ship or an island that bore his name). Lord De Merville himself wouldn’t be accompanying them on the journey but would instead send his son Raymond to speak and act on his behalf, Geraldus at his side documenting their findings to reporting back to the elder.

Diarmuid had thought that his guardian would leap at the stroke of luck that had stumbled upon them, but Ciaran had seemed hesitant to give his immediate consent. He had worked closely with his previous benefactors on each of his expeditions, assuring their minds and intentions were aligned in the pursuit of knowledge and progress; he had always made sure to meet with them and outline their plans man-to-man to assure that everything was as smooth as possible. Most of his sponsors had themselves been part of the scientific community, or at the very least had close connections with members of the board: Lord De Merville had been neither. But he was rich, and apparently very powerful, and he’d already sourced most of the workers that would accompany them. He had the latest technologies, the fastest steamboats, the brightest of minds. All that Ciaran had to do was say yes.

Despite these promises it had still taken a few days of quiet contemplation and hushed telephone conversations with his colleagues before he made his decision. Diarmuid noticed that the weeks before their departure had given his guardian a perpetual frown, and he often dragged Diarmuid on his daily missions of ensuring that the planning and resources were running smoothly. Diarmuid himself hadn’t seen any reason for his stress as the preparations seemed to be going well; although, he could usually be found preoccupied with hearing tales from dockhands or tinkering with the latest contraptions as they were lifted into their crates ready for shipment, rather than checking on the multitude of lists that he was assigned.

It was on the day of their departure that the young Irishman had felt the beginnings of doubt settling in. He’d almost forgotten that their benefactor would be sending his heir to join them, until the biggest and shiniest automobile he had ever seen had pulled up at the docks.

The moment that Raymond had stepped out and introduced himself, Diarmuid could tell that it was going to be a long journey. He was polite to a fault with a firm handshake as he introduced himself, spoke with a soft French accent and paid attention to their own introductions, but there was something in his eyes that had the hairs on the back of Diarmuid’s neck standing on end. He wouldn’t smile so much as sneer at whoever he was speaking to, sharp eyed and calculating in gaze sweeping over them. Diarmuid thought that he was being foolish, but throughout the leg of their time on the waves that ball of discomfort hadn’t receded.

The Frenchman had been noticeably absent for most of the journey, spending most of his time either sequestered in his rooms or prowling the belly of the steamer at night. When he did make an appearance, he had the keen ability to draw the attention from the room, his strong presence and confident swagger indicating his position of power. He regaled the captain and the officers with tales of his time in the Great War, mouth shaping the words of the cruelty and heroism nonchalantly as he sipped on his cognac.

Surprisingly, he would also make time to speak with Diarmuid. He cornered him in the dinner halls, on the deck, in the make-shift study that he and Ciaran had set up in one of the cabins. He asked after his accent, his parents, his interests and hobbies; while all of these were conversations that he was more than used to, the way that the older man leaned into his space and pierced him with a heavy stare wasn’t.

He hadn’t spoken his concerns to Ciaran as he was sure that his mind was simply playing tricks on him: Raymond hadn’t spoken out of turn, hadn’t been aggressive, hadn’t given any indication that he was anything but a polite aristocrat. But Diarmuid had seen the way that he treated some of the crew, the ugly way he spoke down to his servants and berated the smallest of mistakes. He’d seen him backhand one of the younger men for dropping a fork at dinner. It had all left a sour taste in his mouth and he found himself trying to spend as much time away from him as possible.

Ciaran had been so busy with his work and preparations of the routes and steps they would take once landing on the islands that he hadn’t wanted to add to his worries. The older man had been protective since he’d taken custody of him as a child, and Diarmuid didn’t want to be the cause of any more grey in his beard than necessary.

As Geraldus had consistently reiterated throughout their voyage, their ship was indeed one of the fastest that money could buy: state of the art steam engines pumping them steadily across the Atlantic until they reached their destination in record time. Ciaran (and admittedly the entire crew) had seemed lighter in spirit at the idea of roaming freely on steady ground, and Diarmuid’s previous excitement returned with a vengeance. They had docked in the closest port and greeted their local guides, before finally setting off into the unknown heart of the jungle.

He remembered their sojourn to the Amazon when he’d been a young boy, the first trip he’d taken outside of Ireland. The humidity from the dense canopies of the rainforest seemed stifling, the climate thick with a heavy heat that was inescapable.

As much as he enjoyed escaping from the temperamental Irish weather, he had never been keen on the way too much humidity had him coughing and gasping into his handkerchief. The island that they currently found themselves on was blessedly lacking in that department, and they were mostly shaded from the blazing sun by the tall sloping trees and their wide leaves.

No matter how many times he joined his guardian on these trips, Diarmuid couldn’t stop the wonder he felt at each new sight. The beauty of the strange and exotic life was all around him, and his avid curiosity sparked with each new strange insect he saw or the sound of an unfamiliar bird cawing above the trees. He loved the vibrant colours and the intricate designs of wildflowers, and he made sure to pick the ones he found most intriguing and press them between the pages of his notebook to dry. He snapped photos of the bizarre fauna and flora, and even some of the members of the team as they examined and trekked through the land.

He tried to focus on the wonders of the land and the curiosities it brought with it, rather than the way Raymond would walk alongside him and speak of his heroic feats. He had hoped that maybe once they were off the boat and busy with the exploration that he would have more pressing preoccupations than crowding him with tales ( _he’d mostly already heard_ , he thought, but would never say), but alas, his luck would only give so much. Even Ciaran had eventually picked up on the way Raymond leaned into him when he spoke and the uncomfortable (but mostly bored) look on his boy’s face as he did so. After that, he made a point of having Diarmuid close to him, or beckoning a disgruntled Raymond over to speak of logistics.

Diarmuid was so lost in his own thoughts that he stumbled over an errant branch, drawn back into the present. He cursed himself lightly and tried to focus on his surroundings, rather than the men back at camp. They’d been on the trails for a few days by that point and he could already feel tension forming along his shoulders, but he’d decided that he wouldn’t let anything ruin the trip for him.

He smiled at the melodies of exotic parrots singing through the canopy, taking a moment to breathe and relax his shoulders. He reached for his water gourd and took a few sips to soothe his parched throat, before lifting the hem of his shirt to dab at the sweat on his face. Despite the late afternoon the temperature had only dropped a few degrees at most, and as he made his way through the clearing he made a note to tell Ciaran that next time he invited him on an expedition, it better be on a beach.

He lost track of time as he wandered through the jungle, occasionally snapping pictures or taking notes of the new and exciting wildlife he saw. Some of the creatures he had seen in books or as taxidermy in expositions at the museum, but to see them alive and free in their natural habitat filled him with joy. He was busy sketching out a delicate looking flower, pale purple petals with a yellow tipped stigma, when he heard something that made him pause. He strained his ears and laughed as he picked out the sounds of running water in the distance, bagging up his tools hastily as he jogged towards it.

He was sweating by the time he made it to the source a few minutes later, clambering over large rocks and boulders as the whooshing of the river grew louder. As he peeked over the edge, his breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

The sound wasn’t coming from a river but from a waterfall, splashing into a crystalline clear body of water. It was bigger than a pond, smaller than a lake, surrounded by gorgeous flowers and bushes and trees. There was a small stretch of sand to one side forming a comfortable looking beach, with no apparent signs of bigger creatures that might be lurking. The waters were the clearest blue he’d ever seen, deepening into a dark navy the closer they got to the waterfall.

He grinned and took a snapshot of the secluded paradise. He could already feel how good the cool waters would be on his skin as he stretched out into them, how amazing it would be to feel clean after days of hurried flannel baths that did nothing for his perpetually sweating body. His thoughts were quickly squashed, however, when he glanced down at his watch and saw how much time he had been absent from camp. Ciaran would be having a fit if he wasn’t back soon, that is if he hadn’t already sent out a search crew.

With a heavy sigh and a final glance at the lagoon, he carefully made his way back down the rocks and towards the trail he had made. He didn’t notice the curious eyes in the depths of the waterfall, watching him closely.


	2. an encounter

He’d arrived back to their camp site before dusk and was immediately confronted with Ciaran’s mothering. He insisted of giving him a once over, hands flitting over his exposed arms as he checked for scrapes or injuries but Diarmuid merely rolled his eyes and batted him away.

“Ciaran! Stop fretting, I’m fine, I just got a bit distracted and forgot to check the time is all.” The young man assured him, and his godfather lightly cuffed him around the back of the head.

“It does an old man no good to be worried like that! I’ve a half mind to allow Raymond to escort you around from now on, if that’s what it takes to keep you on track.” He said sternly, arms crossed over his chest.

At Diarmuid’s suddenly pale and stricken face he let the façade drop just a little and tugged him into a brief hug, ruffling his hair as he pulled back.

“I shan’t be that cruel, but just…” he sighed and tugged at the boy’s wrist, tapping the watch-face. “I didn’t give you this for nothing, son. Make sure you use it and we’ll have no problems.”

Diarmuid had the decency to look embarrassed, and he nodded at the older man.

“I’ll make sure, Ciaran. I promise.”

“That’s my boy.” Ciaran cleared his throat. “Right, well, you’re probably starved from your wanderings. If you’re lucky they might have saved you some gruel.”

Diarmuid grinned and slipped his arm through the older man’s as they meandered through camp towards the dining tent.

Most of the men were already sat eating, and Diarmuid was relieved to see that Raymond and Geraldus had apparently decided to eat in their own quarters again. He and Ciaran sat themselves down on the bench opposite Rua and Cathal, who were in a deep discussion over who was going to name their newest discovery. They barely registered the newest additions beyond a tip of the head from Rua and a small smile from Cathal before they were back at it.

“I’ve seen married couples bicker less…” Ciaran whispered, winking at his ward as Diarmuid bit his lip to contain his laughter.

The heavy swell of guilt that had gripped him at Ciaran’s worried composure disappeared as they spoke of their days and their findings, complaining of the heat and De Merville’s men’s lack of care with their equipment. The men had built themselves a small area near the back of the camp and not far from Raymond’s tent, and most nights the ones who weren’t on guard duty were rowdy as they drank through their spirits. Diarmuid was just thankful that he was so used to Ciaran’s snoring that he felt as if a hurricane could blow through and he’d sleep through it.

They spoke of other things, and quickly Rua and Cathal joined in as their debate had apparently been resolved. They spoke of their own findings, lamenting how the heat had already warped a couple of the records that they had brought with them but forgotten to store in the shade.

“I’ll soon be as warped as that record if this heat doesn’t dissipate.” Rua grumbled, the other men nodding in agreement and Diarmuid was suddenly reminded of his finding. He opened his mouth to share that little patch of paradise that he had stumbled upon, but something had him clamming up. He frowned as he looked down at the remnants of his stew, tuning out the rest of the other men’s conversation.

It would be selfish not to tell them. They all deserved something nice to counter the oppressive climate, and a part of him wanted to share his discovery just to see the pleased look on their faces. Word would soon spread around the camp and they’d probably pack up and move closer, for convenience if nothing else.

Raucous laughter erupted from the table near them and Diarmuid glanced over at Raymond’s workers. His frown deepened at the thought of them traipsing through the undergrowth, spilling over onto the beach and disturbing the serenity of the area. He could… he bit his lip and focussed back on his bowl. He could tell them, but maybe not quite so soon. The idea of a little peace and quiet to himself left him with a sweet feeling that he didn’t want to destroy so quickly.

“What about you, Diarmuid?” Rua asked suddenly, breaking the younger man out of his thoughts.

Diarmuid jolted his gaze to see the other men at his table looking expectantly, and he cleared his throat as he blushed.

“I… What about me?” He asked sheepishly, and Rua rolled his eyes as he went back to his dinner. Cathal smiled encouragingly and gestured at Diarmuid’s pack that he had yet to drop.

“We were talking about our findings of the day. I was wondering, you’d been gone so long you must’ve found something to write about in that journal of yours.”

“Right!” Diarmuid exclaimed, finally shirking the pack and loosening the ties. “Yeah, yeah of course! I found some really beautiful flowers that I thought…” He rummaged in the bag with one hand, fingers searching for the leather-bound notebook that he took everywhere. “I…. hmm, I think they were relative to the… iris family, and…”

He huffed in frustration and began searching through his pack in earnest, depositing items on the floor beside him. He could feel his frustration morphing into panic as he saw no sign of the notebook, looking through the pockets hastily and ignoring the worried looks of the three men at the table.

He’d had it on him, he knew it. He’d drawn the flowers, and an interesting little lizard he’d taken a shine to, and then he’d seen the beautiful purple flower, and then…

Oh. Oh no. He remembered how he’d been so excited at hearing the running water that he’d packed up his things in a hurry and…

“ _Shit_!” He cursed under his breath, though not quietly enough to escape Ciaran’s ears. His godfather admonished him for his profanity, but must’ve noticed the boy’s distress as the reprimand was gentler than usual.

“I…” Diarmuid swallowed heavily. His mind was racing a mile a minute: if he told them he’d lost it then Ciaran and the others would search the trail with him. They’d pick up on the refreshing sounds of trickling water, just like he’d done. “Sorry, for a minute I thought I’d lost my camera.”

The men glanced at the strap tied around Diarmuid’s neck, the camera dangling from its usual perch.

Ciaran’s expression softened and he gently patted the young man on the back, the back of one hand coming to rest on his forehead like when he was younger.

“Have you drank enough water today, son?” He asked, and the younger man latched onto the excuse he had been handed. He shook his head vigorously, allowing Ciaran to fret over him a few moments more before batting him away again.

“I think that must be it! I’ll just… I’ll head to bed early, I’m so tired after today and…” He scooped the items back into his back haphazardly, making sure everything was accounted for as he rose clumsily from the bench. “Want to be fresh for tomorrow! Have a nice evening, gentlemen!”

With that he bolted from the dining area, feeling only slightly guilty as he ignored Ciaran’s shouts as he rushed to his tent at the other end of the clearing. Once inside he threw his pack on the ground uncaringly, crossing to the small pitcher of water that he’d filled that morning and splashed some on his face and over the back of his neck. The lukewarm water was a short lived but pleasant reprieve from the burning blush that he could feel crawling all over his skin. He grabbed the rag next to the jug and dipped it thoroughly before slumping down onto the pallet he’d set up as a bed.

He let the rag hang on the back of his neck as he pressed his fists into his eyes, groaning. They must’ve thought that he couldn’t take care of himself, or at the very least that he was an idiot. And maybe they were right: he’d taken that notebook with him every expedition, through the coldest mountains and the densest forests, and not once in all those years had it left his side.

He lay back on the bed and plopped the sopping rag over his eyes and his cheeks. Despair quickly morphed into determination as he thought of the trail he had taken, mapping out the tracks and the trees in his minds eye. All he had to do was follow the same path and he was sure to stumble upon it. If he was lucky it might even be in one piece.

His mind and his pounding heart settled into an easier rhythm, thoughts turning to his plans for the next day. His body slowly relaxed into the hard pallet and he fell asleep to thoughts of shimmering water.

The next day found Ciaran much harder to convince to let him wander out into the jungles by himself. He had given the younger man a stern lecture on dehydration and heat stroke and _really Diarmuid, I thought I taught you better than this,_ but in the end he had relented. His own day was to be spent pouring over his notes, cataloguing and comparing the previous day’s findings with the other fauna and flora they’d stumbled on through their journey, and having a restless Diarmuid around would probably do more harm than what it was worth.

He promised to wear the embarrassingly large sunhat and take the bigger water gourd, and even showed him the packed lunch that he’d wrapped and stored away tightly in his pack. Ciaran fussed and fretted despite Diarmuid’s reassurances, and only allowed him to leave once he had confirmed that his watch was ticking away and synchronised with his own.

“You’ll be back before 7,” Ciaran stated firmly, giving him a final once over and adjusting the straps on his back. “And if you’re not then you’ll be transcribing with me for the rest of the expedition.”

“Whatever you say, _mother_.” Diarmuid said with a cheeky grin and Ciaran batted him away, turning back to his tent with a put-upon sigh.

“May the devil take you off my hands!” he called out, making Diarmuid laugh as he set off towards the trail.

For the next couple of hours, Diarmuid trudged through the jungle with single-minded focus. He walked the trail slowly, turning over leaves and pushing through nearby bushes to see if the notebook had somehow slipped into the undergrowth. At one point he even climbed one of the trees and perched precariously on one of the thick branches to see things from a different perspective. There was no way it could’ve gone far, not with how he’d retraced his exact path the way Ciaran had taught him to. He grew more confused and frustrated as the morning slipped into noon, the heat of the sun swelling and slipping through the crack of the tree branches.

It wasn’t long before he found himself back at the lagoon that he’d stumbled upon the day before. It was just as beautiful as when he’d seen it last, perhaps even more so with the midday rays glimmering off the rippling surface. He clambered over the rocks (making sure to check the nooks and crevices for any sign of his wayward book in the process) and made his way to a shady spot of the small beach. He slipped off his pack with a satisfied groan and dropped to the floor, laying on his back and doing his best impression of a starfish. He chuckled at the image and let his eyes close for a moment, curling his fingers into the soft sand and slipping off his shoes with his feet until they too were burying into the sand.

It was too hot to carry on searching in the midday sun, even with the comically wide brimmed hat Ciaran had forced upon him. He had folded it as best he could and stuffed it into his pack as soon as he was out of sight, a small bratty part of him refusing to accept that Ciaran was right, but the heat that emanated from his cheeks told a different story. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit that he’d maybe underdone it with his sun lotion that morning.

For a long moment he lay there, fingers and toes kneading rhythmically into the soft sand. The soothing shade and the babbling of the waterfall nearly lulled him into a near-perfect doze, but a cool breeze wafted by, bringing with it his own stench. Days old sweat and grime had his nose wrinkling in dismay, leaning up on his elbows as he once again contemplated the lagoon.

It looked… more than enticing. It was temptation _incarnate_. He hadn’t brought anything with him to bathe in or scrub himself with as he hadn’t really thought past recovering his precious quarry. He bit his lip and glanced around the clearing: as far as he knew, the place remained untouched.

The shimmering shallows called out to him and he finally made his decision: even if he hadn’t brought a towel, he knew that he’d be dried off in a matter of minutes if he sat in the sun. The clothes might take a while longer, and they wouldn’t be as clean as he usually liked, but at least they wouldn’t be reeking as they were now. He glanced down at his watch: it had barely turned 1.

He stood up with a groan, body aching from his traipse through the jungle, and unbuttoned his linen shirt. He sighed in relief as the cool breeze brushed over his naked chest, and he removed the rest of his clothing without hesitation, remembering his watch at the last moment. It was too hot to face Ciaran’s wrath over _another_ broken timepiece.

He threw it all in a haphazard pile, deciding to deal with it after he’d dealt with himself first.

Diarmuid inhaled sharply at the first touch of the water on his feet. The sharp contrast between the cool waves and the heavy heat of the afternoon was like a balm to the senses, and soon enough he was waist deep in the shallows. His body quickly adjusted to the temperature and dunked his whole body under before resurfacing. He swiped the droplets from around his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, grinning to himself as tugged the knots and tangles free.

 _God_ , he had almost forgotten what being cold felt like. He sank down until he was neck deep in the shallows and began swiping at the grime that had accumulated over the last week. He fisted a handful of sand from the bottom and used it to exfoliate his arms and his chest: he wished for a moment that he’d brought some soap with him for a proper clean, but for now he would have to make do.

He brushed off the remaining sand when his skin started to become too sensitive, submerging himself once more and rubbing his hands across his scalp. The cool waters felt heavenly over his heated skin and when he resurfaced, he felt as if a weight had lifted. He pushed the hair back from his forehead and tilted his face towards the high canopy of the trees where beams of sunlight managed to squeeze through the cracks. He leaned back until he was floating upwards in the shallows, eyes closed as he just… breathed.

The parrots squawked to one another, other birds singing in melodic tones he hadn’t heard before. He could hear the insects chirping and clicking in the undergrowth, bees buzzing around the flowers and plants that surrounded the lagoon. The waterfall splashed down into the dark waters below, echoing around the clearing.

He let his mind drift, soothed by the bustling life of the jungle that carried on around him. Here there were no rowdy men shouting their way through the days; no deadlines or projects to focus on; no unwanted presence by his side droning on about wealth and decadence. There was only him, and the wildlife, and the blissful relief of the cool waters that enveloped him.

He wanted to live in that small pocket of joy for as long as he could, document his thoughts and feelings about the haven around him, but that only served to draw his mind back to his initial problem. His brow furrowed as he thought about his notebook, lost somewhere around the trail. He’d scouted out and around the path he’d taken, double checked and then checked once more in the undergrowth in case it had fallen in a ditch. He wracked his brain trying to remember how the hell it could’ve disappeared: it hadn’t rained in the evening, there was little chance of a freak gust of wind pushing it around; the only thing he could think was that maybe an animal had carried it off, but so far he had yet to see an animal big enough to trudge the thick book back to its nest.

He had to consider the very real possibility that it was gone for good, and the thought had tears prickling in his eyes. He’d had the notebook for _years_ : he’d cherished it, every rip and every passage that he’d written, every dried flower or exotic herb that he’d pressed into the pages. It had all of his memories, all of his experiences being a part of Ciaran’s voyages, photos stashed away in the heavy leather cover. That he’d lost it so blindly…

A sudden sob wrangled its way out of his chest, and he clasped his hand over his mouth, clenching his eyes shut. He felt like such an _idiot_. The notebook had been the last thing his parents had given him before…

He sniffed miserably and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He’d just have to look harder, because there was no chance that it was lost. There couldn’t be. He’d find it again and he’d tell Ciaran about it and they would laugh at his blunder, and it would be _fine_.

He pushed himself upright once more, determined to continue on with his mission stench be damned, and his heart practically stopped in his chest as he caught a pair of dark eyes observing him from the waterfall.

He yelped and lost his footing, briefly dunking himself into the crisp waters again before he managed to regain his balance. He spluttered and wiped the water from his eyes as he focussed on the waterfall… no, his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. There, lingering in the shade and nearly shoulder deep in the dark waters, was a man. His skin was olive toned, darker than his own. His hair was dark and curly, though it glistened as if he’d just emerged from the water himself. His cropped beard framed his strong jawline, and he saw that his nose was crooked as if he’d gone three rounds with a heavyweight. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, as the overall impression that he gave off was _big_ : he could tell that the man was strong from the thickness of his neck, the heavy set of his shoulders, his broad chest that peeked out from the waves.

Diarmuid could feel his face heating in a way that had nothing to do with the sun, and he forced himself not to look away. He was sure that he hadn’t seen anyone in the water when he arrived, but the side closest to the waterfall was shadier than the rest. Maybe he’d been there the whole time and was just too awkward to say hi. He felt his flush deepen at the knowledge that he’d been there the whole time and had more than likely seen him strip and bathe and cry, and oh god he had never felt so embarrassed in his entire life.

He wondered if it was too late to drown himself if only to spare himself the humiliation, but he got the feeling that would be frowned upon in societal etiquette.

The stranger made no move towards him, and despite his size, Diarmuid strangely didn’t find him threatening. His features were rough, for sure, but even from across the lagoon he could tell that there was a softness to him. He even seemed just as startled as the younger man to have been caught out, though that could have just been his own imagination to make sense of it all.

“Err…” Diarmuid floundered, shoulders sinking back into the water self-consciously. “Good afternoon?”

**Author's Note:**

> Soo.... the Discord has been extra amazing the last couple of days with Mermay fever in July, and I wanted to put my two cents in. Next chapter should be coming in the next couple of days.... heads up, it will probably get spicy and the rating will definitely change.  
> I kind of see this set in like... the 30s maybe? Hope that aids the visuals and the timeline! :)
> 
> Big thanks to Rua for going over it for me! :)


End file.
